


The Fourth Time

by sofortig



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers oneshot, Captain America - Freeform, Captain America X Reader - Freeform, F/M, Marvel - Freeform, Pining, Reader Insert, Steve Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers x Reader - Freeform, Steve Rogers x You - Freeform, go w it, its cute, marvel oneshot, seve x you, steve x reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 13:26:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12458724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofortig/pseuds/sofortig
Summary: "Are you ever going to talk to me?""Excuse me?""I always see you there, lurking around.""I don't lurk.""You do lurk! But then you never talk to me. Am I so frightening?"





	The Fourth Time

The first time he saw you, you were reading. Steve had not once visited the library for more than six decades, and yet somehow today he had chosen to. The very day, of course, in which you were leant against the shelves of DC’s largest public library, chewing on your pen while engrossed in a novel far too far away for Steve to distinguish. In short, looking nothing short of mesmerising.

It had been far too long since Steve had held a book. One of weight, anyway. After so long pining for a good read, it was somehow frustrating that he was a little more than distracted by the sight of you. He watches you intently from between books, studying the curve of your nose, the soft curl of your hair, the way your fingers brushed the pages lightly between turning them. It was maddening. Not least because, as a man of principle, he had never allowed himself to feel this way about anyone upon first glance.

He supposed that in hindsight he had held his gaze for too long, as something seems to indicate you to his fascination and your head snaps upward, your eyes meeting his own. He wishes he could have looked for longer. It wasn’t their colour that was particularly fascinating to him, nor the shape or set of them. There was something endlessly curious about your expression, betrayed only by the softness of your eyes. It was as if everything you hadn’t said yet was divulged simply in the look you gave him. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips and Steve looks away sharply, not altogether embarrassed, but not eager to be accused of staring either. His gaze seems to have unsettled you however, and you close the book you have been reading softly.

At the time, Steve thought it to be a sighting of opportunity. A singular event not to be repeated. He watches you disappear between the isles and, with a sigh, turns back to the novel he’s holding.

 

The second time he saw you, you were laughing. He hadn’t expected to see you again so soon, nor ever again for that matter. But there you were, laughing quietly with a friend between the stacks of books he had first seen you amidst. It had been a long day; his ribs still ached from the battering he had taken prior to coming to the library. He had hoped it would take his mind of the day’s mission and, as it would seem, it was going to be more than successful. Your laughter, quiet as it was, filled his veins with warmth which quelled the ache in his side and the buzzing in his head. Scattered hushes silenced you and your friend as you chuckled between yourselves, garnering some sour looks from other library goers. Steve couldn’t have minded less if he tried. It had been over a week since had last seen you, and yet your aura was no less dim, no less diminishing of any rational thought he had had minutes before seeing you.

As he watches, you hand your friend another book and point to something within it, which is apparently worthy of another burst of giggles. This proves to be too much for the library attendant, who rises unceremoniously from the chair not too far away from you both and begins striding towards you. Sensing her anger, you scramble form the floor and drag your friend with you. To Steve’s dismay, straight in his direction. He barely had time to think before your friend overtook you and came careening towards him, barely avoiding him with a flick of her hips. You were not so lucky. Steve sees the recognition flash in your eyes the moment before you collide with him with a shocked yelp, sending both him and the book he was holding flying to the floor.

Several things cross Steve’s mind as his back hit the floor, although sadly, none of them formed any coherent thought he could translate into words. Your hands hit his chest with a thud, pinning him beneath you, and Steve considers how warm they are even through his t-shirt. He knows that you recognise him; the smirk on your lips is as telling as the look in your eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, but finds himself cut short by his incapability to actually think of anything to say to you. You were captivating from a distance, but up close? It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe properly.

The librarian’s heals are clacking faster now, as if she’s afraid he and you were going to begin something untoward on the floor of the library. Steve would have liked to tell her he’d never dream of it, not least without taking you out first, and then dismisses the latter thought. Above him, you grin sheepishly and push yourself of his chest.

“Sorry,” you manage; before Steve watches you scramble away after your friend, once more disappearing between the stacks. The librarian spares him a particularly scathing look as she passes him by. Apparently, you and your friend are both a far more important target than he was. He waits several moments before standing, trying to shake the knot which had formed in his chest. Both intrigued and amused in equal measure, he follows the fray outside.

The librarian seems remarkably set on ensuring you and your friend leave the building. She’s still chasing you as you descend the steps outside the library, you tailing your friend by a few stairs. He watches you go, feeling a ripple of regret overtake him as he realises the one chance he had to say something to you had vanished in an instant. To see you a second time was unlikely, but to happen upon you a third? In a city as vast as DC? He would be waiting on a miracle. You spare him a look however, and glance over your shoulder to shoot him a grin. Your apology still hangs in the air as you disappear down the street, and Steve blinks slightly. “That’s alright,” he murmurs.

 

The third time he saw you, he told himself to be brave. The very miracle he had been waiting on occurred on a Wednesday, not long after dark. It had been entirely by chance that you should be walking down the very same street as him, at the very same time, in the very same place. Washington DC was by no means a small city, and yet his world seemed to have compressed exponentially since he first laid eyes on you. Light of all colours dapples your skin from storefront windows as you walk, practically taking the air from his lungs. Which is inconvenient, given how fast he had walked to catch up with you.

In hindsight, Steve knew his actions were ridiculous. At the time, the loose change in his pocket seemed like a godsend. The woman who manned the stall on the street corner was a little more than flustered at his haste, but he was at risk of losing sight of you if he wasn’t fast. Purchase in hand, he jogged slightly to catch up with you once more. He was behind, however, and you disappeared inside a diner before he could reach you.

This was the third separate occasion upon which he had seen you, seemingly entirely by chance. Today, he told himself, he would be brave enough to say at least two words to you. He watches, heart in mouth, as you approach one of the tables in the diner. All he had to do was go inside, introduce himself, apologise for running into you at the library. Granted, you had run into him, but he couldn’t think of a better conversation starter. It was infuriating how much more simple this would be if it was still the 40′s. In his day, it would have been perfectly reasonable to introduce himself just for the hell of doing so. But it was not 1945, and things worked differently these days. Romance worked differently these days.

As it would seem, these days were not inclined to work in his favour. You slide into one of the diner booths, but not before a man stands to greet you, kissing you on the cheek as he does so. Steve’s hopes sink the moment his heart does. He turns away from the window, discarding the rose he had been holding into a trashcan next to him.

 

The fourth time he saw you, you could bear it no longer. You were not oblivious to the man you had first peaked a glance at in the library all those weeks ago, nor were you oblivious to the times since that you had run into him. You knew who he was, of course. These days it was hard not to. What you didn’t count on however, was how ridiculously attracted to him you would be in person. You had seen him on hundreds of news clips, articles, littering websites and front pages from here to Timbuktu. You had seen him save people in the news after the incident and admittedly, yes, you had always found there to be something about him you found attractive.

You had not imagined that to get any more distracting in person however, and oh, had you been wrong. The first time you had seen him, it could have knocked the breath out of you knowing he had been staring first. You’d had to leave the building to stop yourself from giggling like a schoolgirl. He was so much more real. The look you had imagined so many times reserved for someone else had been set on you. He was taller than you had expected, and even under that cap you always saw him in to disguise some part of his identity, infinitely more handsome.

 

The second time you had crossed paths was admittedly not your finest hour. You and your friend had intended to study that day, you really had, yet there was never much work to be done when you were with Abigail. How you had ended up straddling the Captain America in between the science-fiction and the crime, however, was a mystery to you. It had definitely not been unwelcomed. You had spent the rest of the week thinking about that moment and chewing your lip to suppress the shit-eating grin you wore almost perpetually.

The only thing which broke your mood all week had been the knowledge that you would most likely never see him again. To see him twice was an improbability. To see him a third time? In a city as vast as DC? You would be waiting on a miracle.

 

And then, predictably, your miracle came and went. Naturally, fate picked the most inopportune moment for you to see him again. It had been a monotonous week, in and out of work, up and down the steps of the library in the vain hope of catching a glimpse of him once more. Your paths never coincided, however. Not until then. There he was, over your date’s shoulder, stood outside that bloody diner. As you had said. Inopportune.

You hadn’t even met the man you dined opposite that night before that exact moment. You were not usually one for blind dates; that was more Abigail’s bag. In fact, she was the reason you were even there that night. She had organized it and you had let her, safe in the knowledge that you would never see your captain ever again. It seemed he had always been happy to lurk just in your peripheral, never actually saying anything to you, not even willing to make eye contact until you had collided with him that time in the library. It was ironic you supposed, that the one time he looked to be making a move he saw you with another man. Silently, you reminded yourself to bash your head off a blunt instrument when you got home, and watched as he dumped the flower he had been holding in the trash and walk away from you. The flower that had been meant for you.

 

You had to give it to fate however; it was giving it everything it’d got. Of all the places you had ever seen him, this was the most ridiculous. He was sat on the fountain opposite your bench in the park, doing his very best not to be caught staring. You say your bench, a bench, but you spent so much time on it with the books you borrowed from the library you counted it as your own. He had been reading as well; you had noticed that much when you passed him to sit down, just not that it was in fact him. Figures. You can’t help but smile and shake your head, this was becoming downright comical.

You stand, tuck the book into your bag, and walk toward him. If he notices, he doesn’t give you any indication, as he has had his eyes glued to his book ever since he noticed you stand. You halt in front of him and chuckle slightly.

“Are you ever going to talk to me?”

He looks up in surprise, a slight flush in his cheeks. God, his eyes were even bluer up close. It seemed impossible you had forgotten what they looked like, given that not a two weeks ago you had practically flattened him, your nose hovering just above his. He coughs slightly and tips his head back to look at you properly from under his cap. “Excuse me?”

“I always see you there, lurking around.”

He scoffs slightly and scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t lurk.”

“You do lurk!” You laugh at his scandalised expression. “But then you never talk to me. Am I so frightening?”

“No, I,” he huffs, flustered. His gaze is everywhere, awkwardly flicking between your face and the park behind you. His eyes do settle on yours eventually, making something flutter in your stomach. There’s a silence which stretches out for a few moments, both of you considering each other with curiosity. You glance at your feet and smile slightly.

“What you did to that poor rose was unforgivable.”

Now he really does look alarmed. “You saw that?”

You chuckle again. “Don’t be embarrassed. It was a lovely gesture.”

To his credit, he does manage to look slightly less pink at that sentiment. He doesn’t offer any reply however, as if words would fail him if he tried to. Instead he stands and pushes his hands into his pockets, his gaze on yours unbroken. The curious feeling in your stomach was refusing to subside, and his proximity was not helping. You wave your hand to your side in a vague gesture.

“Want to walk me home?”

He looks surprised. “Where is home?”

“A few blocks.”

There’s a pause. “Are you sure? I could be dangerous.”

You smile and tilt your head to the side as you consider this. “Are you?”

“Not to you.”

You laugh openly and for a moment as he looks concerned. “I mean-”

“It’s okay, I know who you are.” You shove your own hands into your pockets and indicate left with your chin. “Shall we?

 

Several things strike you as you walk. First, Steve Rogers is an incredible gentleman. It was clear to you his mannerisms were not 21st century by any means, and if you were honest, it was refreshing. Once you were both satisfied the other was not an axe-wielder and that your meetings had been chance alone, you became a little more comfortable. He inquired about a lot of things, beginning with your name and delving into the comical nature of your collision in the library.

Secondly, there was something instantly magnetic about him. Of course, you had only known him properly for half an hour by the time you reached your house, and yet in that time you could have sworn you had known him for years.

 

“Well, this is me.” You turn to smile at him. “Thank you for walking me.”

“Oh, you’re welcome.” He pauses for a moment to study your face. “It was my pleasure.”

You don’t mean to, but some part of you is aware you are looking at him expectantly now. He exhales, as if considering saying something, but then he just smiles tightly and gives you a nod. You huff in annoyance as he turns away, not moving from the spot outside your door. It’s almost amusing when he stops and turns back to face you, calling your name as if he had expected you to go inside.

“Do you want to go out with me sometime?”

You can’t help the happy laughter which escapes you as you bow your head incredulously. “I’m free after eight.” You turn to jog up the steps to your front door, the grin you’re wearing practically splitting your cheeks.

“Wait.” Steve’s voice sounds confused from behind you. “You want to go out tonight?”

“Well we’re not getting any younger, Rogers.” You flash him a grin and step backwards into your house. “You can wait there if you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> In hindsight, this probably would have been better as a 40′s AU but fuck it; I’ve written it now and I’m too lazy to change it. If you are well versed in romance movies, you may have realised that this was a dialogue insert from the ‘Longest Ride’ which, by the way, is very good. I’ve always loved the dialogue from that movie, especially in the 40′s scenes in the film, as it’s both endearing and funny at the same time. If you haven’t seen it yet, it’s on Netflix - give it a whirl. Also please let me know what you think of this, because while I love the dialogue, I hate how I wrote this and I can’t tell if it’s because it is actually shit or if I’ve just rewritten it so many times it makes me feel ill. Loveya. 
> 
> Tumblr: Merdelera   
> (If you bros want to request any fics) x


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